


Dreams of Miami Neon

by ProtoPrince



Category: Hotel Artemis (2018), Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Acapulco is Acapulco, Acapulco is a Sleazy Power Bottom, Anal Sex, Charlie Day's Pornstache, Criminal AU, Gay Sex, Hermann is London, Hermann is a Criminal Accountant, Hotel Artemis AU, M/M, Mention of Alcohol and Cigarettes, Mention of wounds, Newt is Acapulco, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 01:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14759747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProtoPrince/pseuds/ProtoPrince
Summary: Hermann is a criminal accountant who skimmed money off the wrong mob boss' son. After being badly beaten he is taken to Hotel Artemis; a secret state-of-the-art hospital for not quite model citizens. He is intrigued by Acapulco, an international arms dealer and the two are pulled into each other's orbit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Acapulco is my favourite sleazy gay bitch, I am ready to NUT when this movie comes out. Enjoy! (I split this into two chapters cause I usually read on mobile and I hate it when the page reloads halfway through a 10k fic and you have to scroll all the way back)

The first thing Hermann notices when he wakes is a distinct ache in his leg that can only come from a healing wound. Head swimming with the drugs the Nurse must have sedated him with to operate, he thinks back on the events that landed him in this strange place. Relatively speaking, it was probably not a great idea to skim money off one of the craziest mob bosses he’s ever had the misfortune to work with, but it was far too tempting not to collect inconvenience money from the tight arse son of a bitch. Despite the futuristic apparatus he vaguely remembered from his short time conscious in the operating theatre, he has a sneaking suspicion this injury is more than skin-deep.

Gathering his wits as best he could, Hermann uses the bed controls to push himself up slowly, head swimming even at the gentle movement. He opens his eyes to x-rays of his legs and the bottom of his spine illuminated on the opposite wall. Strips of white run across his bones, adding support to a few of his lower vertebrae and what looked like a whole hinge system of bolts in his right knee. Seeing his injuries like this is too abstract to process in his morphine-addled state, so he pushes the blanket away to look at his legs. His knee is an angry purple and sickly yellow, bruised from mid-thigh to upper shin, and a long red line curves through the purple, stitches holding the raw skin together. The Nurse walks in just as Hermann is about to puke, scooping up a small trash can at the side of the bed and placing it in his hands just in time.

 

After Hermann manages to compose himself enough to get his head out of the bin, she starts to read from his chart.

 

“Okay, so, we removed shrapnel from your leg, mended several fragmented bones in the leg, realigned your spine and reinforced the areas which suffered breaks. Overall, your procedure was textbook, however due to the nature of your injuries you will be required to undergo physiotherapy, covered under your membership, of course, and have been issued this cane to keep until you are able to walk unaided again.” Her voice is sharp and no-nonsense, a lifetime of dealing with the worst of the worst would do that to you, Hermann supposes.

 

He manages a croaky “thank you”.

 

“Not at all, it’s what you pay for. So Mr... Gottlieb, we have put you in our London suite for your stay this time, I trust you remember the rules?” Hermann nods again, weakly.

 

“You’ll have three days bedrest, and three days to recover at your leisure at the hotel. During this time, meals and entertainment will be provided, and we hope you have a lovely stay. Any questions?” She reels off the last bit like reading a script; Hermann suspects she doesn’t really care if he has a lovely stay or not. Hermann looks at the Nurse, somehow her bored face comforts him, as if this isn’t a life-changing injury at all. He shakes his head and she checks his vitals on a tablet before leaving.

 

Hermann’s stomach feels like he’s playing host to some kind of butterfly convention, his mind trying to break through the haze of painkillers to work it’s way through his upcoming plans and alter them to accommodate his injury. He takes a deep breath and clicks the morphine button on the patient remote beside him. Feeling the warm haze deepen and draw him back into sleep, he thinks three days rest can’t be too bad.

 

\------

 

Bored. He’s so bored. The first two days he had been too hopped up on morphine to really care about sitting around doing nothing, but now he was being weaned onto weaker stuff, all he could think about was how boring this place was. Well, if you weren’t woken up by the screams of new patients checking in in the middle of the night. He wished he had his phone, or his laptop, his mind was sharp enough to continue working on his accounts, but hotel rules stated no outside contact until you are discharged.

His injuries had really healed thanks to the Nurse and the hotel’s cutting-edge practices - a few treatments of foul smelling gel on his leg and back had reduced the swelling and bruising in both sites considerably and the metal in his bones showed no signs of rejection. He could already move his knee slowly and had stood up under the watchful eye of the Nurse during her rounds earlier. Even she seemed surprised at his recovery.

Hermann makes it about four more hours before he can’t take it anymore and maneuvers himself into sitting on the bed. He picks up the cane, it feels sturdy, and has already been adjusted for his height. It looks old, but classic, tortoiseshell patterned wood for the stick, ivory-look plastic for the handle which fits perfectly in his hand and a small rubber end for better grip. He puts weight on the cane and plants his left leg on the floor, readying himself for his first real step with his new knee.It’s shaky, but he is confident he can make it to the library stroke sitting room at the end of the hall he remembers from his last stay. Who tries to drown their accountant? Really.

It takes ten minutes to get to the end of the hall and he is sweating from the effort, but he’s finally at the door, now to grab a few books and get back to bed before any of the staff see him out of bed before approval. The room is awash with a golden glow from the roaring fireplace, a wave of heat hitting Hermann’s body as he steps into the room. It’s decorated in a homely sort of way, high backed chairs, tables and other furniture making the space feel cozy and lived in, very much in contrast with the sterility of the rest of the building. He steps up to the bookcase to the left of the fireplace and looks along the diverse array of titles; _The Arsonist’s Handbook, Stand and Deliver: A History of Thievery,_ several volumes of Kafka and a _Where’s Wally._ Hermann brushes his fingers along the spines of a row of older, leather-bound books and settles on _A Study in Scarlet._ It had been years since he had time to read for pleasure, and the Sherlock Holmes books had been a secret joy since his youth. He smiles at the familiar illustration on the cover, depicting Holmes’ famous smoking silhouette.

 

“Nice.”

 

Hermann starts at the voice, close behind him, and twists his leg a little. He hisses.

 

“Yes, well, it is a classic.” He waves the book in the direction of the voice, schooling his face into a less pained expression before turning to face the stranger.

 

“Oh, yeah, I was talking about your ass though.” Hermann is met with a wild-haired mustachioed man around his age reclining on the sofa facing the fire, leering suggestively at him and not-so-subtly checking Hermann out. He’s dressed quite finely, but the way he wears his shirt buttoned only half way up and his general demeanor cannot be described in any other way but sleazy, like he’d walked straight out of a terrible 70’s porno, boots on the upholstery which will be sure to annoy any employee that sees him.

 

Hermann blushes bright red, the man’s words sinking in as he turns to grab a handful of books from the shelf and limp as fast as he can back to his room. He can hear the man laughing to himself as he closes the door to the sitting room. Safe in his room, heart pounding but not from the exertion of his getaway, he looks over the titles he had managed to grab in addition to the Holmes book - a _Nancy Drew_ novel, _Pride and Prejudice,_ and _Fifty Shades of Gray._ Great.

 

\------

 

“Alright, you are cleared to move around a bit! I don’t see any reason for you to be stuck in bed with your rate of recovery, just don’t try to run any marathons any time soon.” The young orderly says, typing notes on Hermann’s recovery on his tablet, exhaustingly chipper. Hermann offers a smile and a thank you.

 

“Nice stack of books you got there, I always thought Nancy Drew was underappreciated in the male over-thirty demographic.”

 

“Oh, I only wanted to read the Holmes book, there was a man in the sitting room, he gave me a bit of a fright so I grabbed what I could and got out of there.” Hermann admits sheepishly.

 

“Mustache? Kinda dressed like a 70s porn star?” Hermann nods, that blush rising on his cheeks at their late night exchange.

 

“That’s just Acapulco, he’s a regular, he can get around weirdly quiet considering how loud he usually is, but he’s mostly harmless - he’ll flirt with anything that moves though.” The orderly laughs, checking off the last of his tasks for Hermann. The orderly waves a happy goodbye, whistling an unfamiliar tune as he makes his way down the corridor to his next patient.

 

Hermann dresses himself in a replacement suit the hotel had procured for him, omitting the jacket but keeping the vest and bow tie. It was something he would have happily worn to his office, so it goes a long way in helping him feel like himself again. His glasses have also been repaired, so he slips the chain over his head and puts them on. Perfect, no more slightly fuzzy rooms. He grabs the cane and checks himself over in the mirror. He looks… Normal. His mind is set somewhat at ease over that, and he is glad the cane fits in well with his usual attire, already becoming quite comfortable with using it despite the lingering stiffness in his leg.

 

Hermann makes his way down to the dining area, stairs proving to be a greater issue than previously thought, but arrives with plenty of time to enjoy lunch. The waitress feels sorry for him being cooped up in his room and gives him a little package of biscuits to take back to his room. He’s sure everyone gets biscuits, but he appreciates the fuss all the same. He retires to the sitting room to replace the books he had gotten the night before and pick some new ones, and settles down in an armchair, his biscuits and a cup of tea. He reads for a good few hours, oblivious to the world, until he falls asleep, book in his lap.

 

He awakes to sultry mismatched eyes and a good patch of light chest hair visible through the opening in the other man’s shirt.

 

“Hey, it’s you, from yesterday right?”

 

“What…?”

 

“Book guy! How’d you like _Fifty Shades_? I saw you pick it up, I personally thought it needed a bit more… Oomph, don’tcha think?” His eyes sparkle with mischief and he licks his lips, the barest sliver of tongue peeking through that godawful moustache sends a shiver down Hermann’s spine.

 

“I-I picked it up by accident!” His face is bright red again.

 

“Hah, I bet that’s what they all say… Name’s Acapulco.” Hand outstretched lazily for a handshake, which Hermann takes, not wanting to be too impolite to this strange man who both intrigues and repels him. Acapulco takes his hand and bends to place a kiss to the back of it, mustache tickling the skin, not breaking eye contact for a second. Hermann might just explode.

 

“Herm- I mean, London. A… Pleasure?” Hermann pulls his hand back to his chest as soon as it is released.

 

“London huh? Trust me, you haven’t had the real _pleasure_ of my company just yet.” He piles all of the seduction into that one word, and Hermann has to cross his legs so as not to betray his body’s excitement at the prospect of _pleasure_ and _Acapulco_ together. Luckily the man seems not to notice as his watch beeps and he swears, briefly looking at the time and clicking the alarm off.

 

“Sorry, babe, gotta run, but I’ll see you around.” He runs his eyes over Hermann’s body again, a slight flicker and a deepening of his smile as he sees Hermann’s crossed legs. Hermann is definitely going to explode.

 

Acapulco turns and offers a smile, wave and a “Ciao”.

 

\------

 

Hermann awakes wet from a restless sleep filled with Miami neon, a very _specific_ pornstache and ice-cold margaritas. He doesn’t even know his real name, and Hermann’s brain is supplying him with sickly-sweet dreams of a white-picket life with that sleazeball, the absolute traitor.

He only has one day left in the Hotel, his checkout moved forward to 3pm due to his remarkable recovery due to that weird gel he keeps being subjected to every 4 hours. His leg feels much better, the only sign of injury is his limp and the silvery snake of a scar running down the middle of his leg. His spine feels much better too, but is still fairly stiff. The same orderly as yesterday comes to check on him and they spend a while talking about literature, now that Hermann had chosen a few more books, more to his taste. He’d already read most of them - he had always been a fast reader and now he had very little else to occupy his time even more so. He was practically eating them. He thinks he should avoid the library today, for fear of bumping into Acapulco again. Apparently he just likes to hang around the place like a stray cat, making up excuses to get the most minor of cuts and bruises seen to by the staff. Hermann suspects he either gathers new clients here or he just likes the attention. Probably the latter. If he can get out of this place without seeing him again, maybe this silly… Fixation (it was definitely not a crush - grown men did not get crushes Hermann Gottlieb, you silly man) would be pushed out of his mind by something more important. It was probably just some weird cabin fever or stockholm syndrome thing, Hermann thought.

 

Hermann dresses himself in loose gym clothes and heads to breakfast. He has his first physiotherapy session today in small room, empty apart from some bars and a treadmill. A man built like a champion wrestler was working on a tablet as he walked in. Despite the fact he could probably break Hermann in two, he was firm but gentle and Hermann felt much more positive about his rehabilitation using his legs without the cane. He also had crackers and juice for after the session which definitely scored him extra points. He was sweaty and tired, but victorious.

 

Of course, Hermann makes a beeline for his room and it’s ensuite bath shower combo, never one to sit around ripening in gym clothes after a workout, few and far between as they may have been. He plugs the bath and turns the taps, pipes whining but pouring hot water into the tub. The first plumes of steam from the hot water hit his face a momentarily blind him as he realise he forgot to take off his glasses. Setting them aside, he walks into the main room, and begins to strip. The sweatpants and shoes come off easily, as do his underwear and t-shirt. He picks out an outfit to wear after his bath and lays it neatly on the bed, depositing the soiled clothes in a hamper at the end of the bed. Finally, he picks up a book, _1984_ by George Orwell and makes his way back into the ensuite. Soon, the bath is filled and he takes a seat, immediately feeling much more relaxed. He hadn’t realised that the ache he felt in his knee after his session was so bone-deep, legs creaking a little as he settles into the warm embrace of the tub.

 

He tries to read his book, he really does, but Hermann’s mind keeps drifting back to Acapulco. Hermann has no idea why he’s so intrigued by him, he’s definitely not his usual type, but his heart, and other parts of his anatomy, are aching to become closer to him. His mind drifts lazily through memories of last night’s dream and his previous encounters with the man. God, he’s only met him twice, he’s in far too deep. He finally gives up on his book and places it on the closed toilet seat by the tub, hands dropping to cup himself. Hermann’s dick is already interested, he’d admittedly had a bit of a build up with the stress of the past week. He grips the base of his shaft with his left hand and strokes with his right, it doesn’t take long to become fully hard. The sensation coupled with the warmth and safety of the bath makes for an almost therapeutic wank. Hermann closes his eyes to focus more on his body, hand moving faster and gripping tighter, giving a delicious twist at the head. He moves his left hand up to his chest, trailing his body, imagining thicker tanned fingers instead of his own pale thin hand. He imagines Acapulco joining him, not even stripping out of his clothes in his haste to pleasure Hermann. Kissing him, tickling his face with his moustache, tickling his body with his sodden suit and silk scarf; maybe even tying his wrists above his head with it. Tracing his smile lower down his body, fitting himself between Hermann’s legs before taking his length into that soft warm mouth. Hermann’s breath hitches at the thought of Acapulco prone at his feet, smug smile wiped off his face and replaced with his cock.

 

Hermann comes.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s 6pm by the time Hermann gathers his composure and heads to dinner. There are a few new check-ins looking worse for wear and those who had been here since Hermann began his stay, despite having never spoken to any of them, he appreciated the familiarity in their presence. One could almost imagine they were in an actual restaurant if it weren’t for the bulky orderlies standing by. It appeared violence most often occured at the dinner table, his own orderly had told him about a particularly skilled assassin that had killed 4 people with a pepper shaker and a placemat before being tased and evicted. Hermann prefered a degree of professional detachment from his acquaintances at the best of times anyway, so dining alone suited him just fine.

 

He decides to explore a little after dinner, he needs fresh air after being cooped up for so long, remembering a small rooftop terrace which the orderlies mostly used during smoke breaks. The stairs are a little rough on his leg, but he makes it, coming to lean against the railing separating him from the outside world. Although it’s not raining, moisture hangs in the air and covers the streets reflecting every light tenfold. Cars and street lights blend into stars, an abyssal darkness above the city, familiar constellations comforting Hermann, assuring him not everything has changed.

 

_Chk!_

 

The sound of a lighter being flipped startles Hermann from his admiration of the night sky. A small orange flame illuminating a face, scarred across the left eye and an impressive growth of facial hair on his top lip. He comes closer, washing the rest his body in the glow of the neon light fixed to the top of the hotel’s roof.

 

“Fancy seeing you here, doll. Want a smoke?” Acapulco holds out a packet of cigarettes, but Hermann declines.

 

“Sorry, I quit.”

 

Acapulco smiles around his cigarette and exhales, smoke disappearing into that dark abyss.

 

“You never really quit. You just change poisons.” His voice is a little huskier and it makes Hermann want to melt. “What’s your poison now? You look like a whiskey kinda guy to me.”

 

“Whiskey’s fine. Mostly my ‘poison’ is just a full 8 hours sleep.” Hermann chuckles, eyes sliding back over the city, hoping it looks aloof and enticing, not rude.

 

They stand in silence for a beat.

 

“So what’re you in for?”

 

Hermann breathes deeply, smoke in his lungs and clinging to his clothes.

 

“My leg.” He taps the side of his leg with the cane. “Skimmed money from an arsehole coked-up son of a mob boss, they made sure I couldn’t run away.” He smiles bitterly. Hermann thinks he can see some sympathy in the other man’s eyes, behind his obvious lust.

 

“Well shit. That sucks.” Acapulco takes a deep drag. Hermann nods.

 

“What are you, as you say, ‘in for’?” Hermann draws out the last of the sentence, he knows some people find his accent sexy and he’s not quite above playing dirty.

 

“Got a boo-boo. Needed someone to kiss it better.” Hermann laughs. “I’m totally serious, dude.” He pulls his shirt to the side and reveals a large bruise and a Hello Kitty bandaid plastered across a small wound on his shoulder.

 

“That looks pretty dire. I’m not sure you’ll survive.” Acapulco snorts.

 

“Nurse said they might need to amputate. The world is one cruel son of a bitch.”

 

They stand again in a comfortable silence. Hermann decides to gamble.

 

“I believe I shall retire for the night. Always a pleasure Mr. Acapulco…”

 

“It’s still early, darlin’, how about we get you some whiskey and we’ll work on those 8 hours, hmm?” His eyes are bright, seeing through him like an x-ray. “Although I can think of a lot of fun things we can do together for a whole 8 hours…”

 

“I’m not sure I should drink with this medication… But what the hell.” Hermann tries his best to return Acapulco’s gaze seductively and his eyes light up and his moustache twitches up at one corner.

 

Acapulco finally exhales the last of his cigarette and stubs it out on the rail, flicking it over the edge to the street below.

 

“Well, let’s go babe.”

 

\------

 

Hermann takes the first tumbler of whiskey as a way to calm his nerves, the second because of the smoky rich flavour and the third, well he ran out of excuses for the third. Acapulco was exactly the man he had judged him to be - arrogant, vain to a fault, sleazy and borderline psychopathic. But the man exuded confidence, style (admittedly not a style he would wear but the man knew fashion), and told the most outrageous stories. Hermann mostly just sat back and listened, slowly nursing his drinks as he wove progressively bigger and crazier tales about his time as an arms-dealer. Normally, Hermann would halt any chance of a relationship upon learning somebody was in the business, but he couldn’t escape from the orbit of this man - more importantly, he didn’t want to. Though he would be loathe to admit it out loud, he liked him; despite his numerous and obvious faults, Acapulco was everything Hermann wasn’t, he wore everything on his gaudy Versace suit sleeves and he felt like he had finally found the last puzzle piece to his metaphorical jigsaw.

 

“So, I had an AK in this guys mouth, and he just starts goin’ like- Hey, where are you going, I was just getting to the good bit!” Hermann was halfway to the door to the corridor when Acapulco noticed he had gotten up.

 

“Bed. You coming?” Hermann carries on walking but tilts his head back to the couch where the other man had been reclining.

 

Acapulco leaps up, and Hermann feels his body bracketed against the door.

 

“I thought you’d never ask, babe.” His voice is right against Hermann’s ear, breath on the nape of his neck, vibrations against his back. Acapulco’s hands are all over him, before coming to rest on his hips, gently turning him around.

The kiss is electric. Full of need, diffusing the tension both men had been feeling since they first locked eyes on one another. Acapulco’s mouth was soft, tasting of nicotine and whiskey, intoxicating. The moustache was a bit of a surprise, Hermann had never kissed someone with such an impressive specimen of facial hair but it was not entirely unpleasant. In fact, he could see himself growing to like it very much. He lets go of his cane, arms coming to rest on Acapulco’s shoulders, not breaking their kiss for a second. When they do part, panting for breath, the shorter man is on Hermann’s pants, undoing the belt like a man possessed to get to his prize.

 

“Wait, what if someone walks in?.” Even Hermann isn’t convinced by his breathy protest, becoming more and more into the idea of Acapulco sucking him off against this door by the second.

 

“You just let me worry about that, babe. Relax for me, I’m gonna make you feel _so_ good.” His trickster smile is back again, somehow convincing Hermann’s lust addled brain that this is a perfectly acceptable act to perform in a shared living space.

 

Acapulco has undone the buttons on his waistcoat, most of his shirt and is now working on his zipper, taking time to palm Hermann’s length through his suit trousers. He finally kneels, eye level with his cock, separated only by space and a pair of tight black boxer briefs. He presses a gentle kiss to the tip of it through the briefs and Hermann thinks he may actually be in love. Cold air hits the sensitive skin but is quickly replaced by a hot wet mouth, tongue laving the underside of his cock. Hermann groans and bangs his head against the door he’s leaning against. He lets Acapulco work his magic, looking for all the world like he was born to suck cock, red mouth dripping with saliva taking his whole not-inconsiderable length like it was nothing. Hermann lets out a strangled moan, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the door but finally finding purchase in the wild shocks of brown hair in front of him. Acapulco moans as Hermann gives the barest hint of pressure against his scalp. Delightful vibrations send shivers all over Hermann’s skin, and he decides to play with this new information. He pushes Acapulco’s head down, throwing him off his rhythm, he comes up spluttering, moaning and gasping for air.

 

“Fuck yeah baby, do that again.” His voice is hoarse and completely fucked out. Hermann Loves it.

 

Hermann takes the scarf around Acapulco’s neck, balling it up close in his fist, guiding his head back to his cock. He does it slowly keeping eye contact, unspoken consent in Acapulco’s mismatched eyes that what he was doing was _exactly_ what he wanted. Hermann fucks his mouth mercilessly, Acapulco clearly loving being used like this if the tent in his slacks could be trusted. He finally relents and gives him some time to breathe, releasing the scarf, but the shorter man is back on his cock in seconds, licking and sucking, before moving down to his balls. Hermann is so close to coming, he has to screw his eyes together at the sensation, Acapulco massaging the taut skin with that devilish tongue. He moves a hand from where he had been stroking Hermann’s hip to jack him off as he worked on the sack and Hermann just can’t take it anymore.

 

“Aca-... I’m gonna come- Ah!”

 

Hermann comes on Acapulco’s face, a white string of ejaculate landing on the man’s moustache and across the bridge of his nose, very close to his scarred eye. Hermann catches his breath and realises what he had done, quickly pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his face, expression still caught in reverie but his eyes following Hermann’s movement.

 

“I’m so sorry, I should have given you more warning. I can only apologise-” He is interrupted by a kiss.

 

“I need you inside me. Now.” Even hoarse, red-faced with tears in the corners of his eyes, Acapulco’s voice is a perfect mix of dangerous and commanding.

 

They both stand, knees clicking and Hermann remembers to pick up his cane. They make their way to Hermann’s room, spotting no orderlies on the way, thank God.

 

As soon as they’re both inside, Acapulco is on him, kicking the door closed in favour of using his hands to undress Hermann. Acapulco is still completely dressed while Hermann had mostly been stripped in the sitting room where they had taken their drinks. As Acapulco kisses him and works the rest of his clothes free, Hermann does the same for him. First the scarf, then his jacket and shirt (admittedly the shirt had only been hanging on by a few buttons anyway). Acapulco is chubbier than he expected, his body soft in all the ways Hermann’s was skinny or even bony, a direct contrast to the man’s sharp mind and quick wit. Hermann broke their kiss to place small kisses on his neck and freckled shoulder, drawing him into a hug. When he pulls back Acapulco’s face was practically vulnerable, as if no one had been gentle with him in his entire life. Hermann took the opportunity to undo his pants and grip his cock. Acapulco whines and bucks into his hand, forehead resting on Hermann’s shoulder. The taller man coaxes him into another kiss, jacking his cock between them. Hermann’s already hard again.

 

Acapulco pulls away, divesting himself of the rest of his clothes and picks up his jacket. Hermann also takes off his clothes, leaving both men naked and aching for one another.

 

“Aha! Got it!” He wheels back around, familiar grin back in place, holding up a condom and some strawberry flavoured lube. Hermann snorts.

 

“Lie back on the bed, sugar, I’m gonna ride you. All. Night. Long.” Hermann certainly isn’t opposed to that idea at all.

 

Hermann does as he’s told, while Acapulco unwraps the condom rolling it onto Hermann’s cock. The feeling is a little odd but the slick slide of Acapulco’s hand spreading the lube is fantastic. He crawls up Hermann’s body, pressing kisses to his skin as he goes, before catching his lips with his own. He grips Hermann’s lubed up cock and guides it to his entrance. Hermann bucks up, but just ends up spreading the lube, maddeningly close to Acapulco’s tight heat but not quite there.

 

“You wanna fuck me babe?” He breathes against his thin wet mouth.

 

“ _Yes.”_ Hermann growls back, surprising even himself with his impatience.

 

Acapulco sits up and lines himself up properly this time, sinking down onto Hermann’s cock. While he may not have the girthiest dick, he’s certainly longer than average. Even Acapulco seemed pleasantly surprised at the stretch and hums all the way down until he’s almost bottomed out. He seems a little breathless, but eager to move, so Hermann bucks up as much as he can without hurting his aching leg. This seems to kickstart Acapulco, he lets out a long drawn out moan as he finally moves, bouncing up and down on Hermann’s dick. The feeling is absolutely exquisite, the heat of being inside Acapulco and the slide of the lube means both of them are already close. Acapulco looks to be in absolute ecstasy, taking the entirety of Hermann’s length like a champ. Hermann does his best to assist, bucking and touching Acapulco as much as he can, but the shorter man is riding him like some kind of prize jockey, Hermann can only lie back and feel him work his magic.

 

Hermann reaches a hand down from Acapulco’s hip to work at his cock. He lets out a long whine above him, having found the perfect angle to brush against his prostate on every thrust. Judging by the way Acapulco is contracting against him, Hermann knows it won’t be long before they both come. He doubles down on his efforts, twisting his hand against the head, reducing the man’s vocabulary to a litany of prayers and swears.

 

Acapulco locks eyes with Hermann again and lowers himself to capture Hermann’s mouth in his, still fucking himself on his cock. Acapulco is gripping him in a tight embrace, moments from tipping over the edge, so Hermann pulls him close with one hand still working his cock. When he brings his free hand up to Acapulco’s hair and pulls is when the man finally comes, Hermann swallowing his cries greedily and fucking up into that tight heat, finding his own orgasm soon after. They stay like that for a while, panting against each other, occasional little kitten kisses when they find their breath. Hermann is positively sticky with sweat and lube but he doesn’t want to move in case he disturbs the blissful expression on Acapulco’s face. Eventually it is Acapulco who moves, pulling himself off of Hermann’s soft cock and removing the condom, knotting it and throwing it in the trash. He wanders into the bathroom, bare assed, with no shame, wearing his regular confidence like it’s the only clothes he needs. Hermann hears the water stop and he reappears with a towel, kneeling on the bed to clean Hermann off. He thanks Acapulco with a tired kiss and pulls him into an embrace, a silent request for him to stay the night.

 

“Not going anywhere babe.”

 

\------

 

Hermann awakes to a cold bed and a note.

 

_Had to run, business stuff._

_Really enjoyed last night,_

_I’d love to do it again sometime._

 

_Call me x_

 

Hermann would be lying if he wasn’t a little disappointed but he can’t bring himself to just throw it away. He showers, dresses, takes breakfast and goes to his final checkup before heading back to his room to get ready to leave. He even returns the books to the sitting room, blushing at the memory of the night before.

 

He leaves a little earlier than his original 3pm checkout, picking up his phone, keys and wallet at the front desk. The day is bright as he steps out, phone buzzing like crazy as it catches up with almost a weeks messages. He silences it and takes out the paper folded in his jacket, sending a quick text to the number.

 

_Are you offering me a date? - London_

 

He goes to put his phone back into his pocket, but it rings, Acapulco’s name flashing up on the screen.

 

“Well, a guy like you deserves to be wined and dined, right?”

 

The voice is in stereo, against his ear and behind him. Hermann turns, and Acapulco is there, phone against his ear, dressed in yet another gaudy suit with far too much chest hair on display.

 

“I’m free for lunch. Shall we?”

 

Hermann offers his arm. Acapulco takes it.

 

 


End file.
